We just spent a fun weekend in St. George with our good friends Bret and Paula, and according to Melanie ... I HAVE to blog about it. She's kinda bossy, and she's pregnant, so I'm going to just do as I'm told and not ask a bunch of silly questions.
After a little shopping the next morning, we headed up to Toquerville looking for a supposedly very cool waterfall ... which apparently does not exist or is very well hidden. We figured since the Virgin River was basically a little puddle, there wasn't likely to be much of a waterfall 30 miles upstream. So, after one too many u-turns and "road closed" signs we decided to go to Zion National Park instead.
Little did we know, St. Patrick's Day weekend is a very big deal in the quaint little town of Springdale, Utah, which happens to be the gateway town to Zion National Park. They throw a big celebration complete with live band and parade down their little main street. We stopped for a quick bite to eat at The Flying Monkey and watched the small-town parade in style. I saw about as much spray-painted green hair, green painted faces, and too-short shorts on old guys driving John Deere tractors as I ever hoped to.
At this point, Dave graciously offered me an "out." Once he saw what we were about to do, he figured he better quit pushing and leave it up to me if I wanted to go on or not. Now I was SCARED to death, but I'm not an idiot either. If I didn't finish this hike (or let him at least finish), I was NEVER going to hear the end of it ... not for the rest of ETERNITY. He promised we'd go slow and he'd stay right behind me. He promised not to goof around or get close to the edge ... blah, blah, blah. I made him promise two more things before I'd go on ... that he'd NEVER ask me to go on this hike again and that he'd NEVER even consider taking any of my children on it. Off we went.
This is the view from the edge ... I wouldn't know.
So now that I conquered one of the scariest afternoons of my life ... piece of cake, right.? Oh ... except for the fact that we still had to climb down. In some cases, better. In some cases, worse (see picture above).
Still on the way down. Don't worry ... I've got it under control. Check out the color on my hand. Haha
And what do I get from this experience you ask? Well a few significant things. First, Dave is never allowed to ask me to go on this hike again. I can assure you I will never do it again. Had I known it was like that, I never would have done it. I way overestimated my adventurousness (?). Second, of course I'm proud of myself for accomplishing something I never thought I could do. You know, "You can do hard things" and all that. And last but not least I have a lifetime worth of
object lesson/spiritual thought/talk/lesson/devotional material about holding onto the Iron Rod and staying as far away from the edge as possible. And that you might say was worth it.